TIME DOUCHE CH. 6 - DAWN OF THE DOUCHE

TIME DOUCHE CH.6 - DAWN OF THE DOUCHE

By Steven Novak

Napoleon smiles at you in that greasy-gross way only he and his weird little face can. For the first time since meeting him, you realize that he looks an awful lot like a used car salesman. History’s most feared general looks like he should be selling you a Honda Civic at a jacked up price.

“Is this what you are looking for, my friend?” Napoleon says with a snarl and an almost comical raise of his eyebrow.

The gesture makes you want to punch him right in his sweaty round face. Marie’s grip tightens on your arm and her head peeks out from over your shoulder. Napoleon is laughing now, chuckling to himself while he dangles the translator in his hand. You want to grab him by the little strand of hair hanging over his forehead, spin him around and slam him into a tree. At that same time, you are completely aware of the fact that you won’t be doing any of those things. Sure, Napoleon’s a five-foot-nothing pipsqueak, but you’re not exactly the world’s most intimidating dude either.

He also has the advantage of knowing how to use a sword.

You once needed six stitches after slicing open your finger while chopping broccoli.

Car salesman or not, you’d be smart to keep your distance.

At the same time, you’ve seen enough time travel movies, and watched and enough episodes of Star Trek, to understand that leaving the translator in Napoleon’s hands probably isn’t the brightest thing to do.

Oh, well.

Without warning you shove Marie backward and into the time machine. She trips over her own feet, clonks her head on the rear paneling, and yelps. You follow her inside and shut the door behind you, but not before flashing Mr. Honda Civic the finger.

He has no idea what the gesture means. You honestly don’t care.

Once you’re inside, the machine begins to honk and beep and flash and whir exactly as it did when you first stepped in at Nubleman’s place. A green light emerges from a bulb behind you, illuminates the back of your head, then begins to slide downward until it reaches Marie. You can hear Napoleon outside. He’s banging on the machine and whacking it with his sword.

Though you have no idea what you’re doing, you start pressing buttons. Marie is on her feet now. She’s standing behind you with her hands on your shoulders, pinching at your skin nervously and gnawing at her lower lip like a side of beef.

“What are you doing?” She screams at the top of her lungs as the machine begins to hum and rattle, and Napoleon’s sword continues to whack against it from the outside.

“I’m not . . .entirely . . .sure.” You answer respond honestly, because you aren’t—at all.

The chair you’re sitting in starts to wobble and the panels in front of your face flash like something out of a video game. Suddenly you feel Marie’s mouth on your neck. Her tongue bobbles your earlobe. She rips your shirt backward and mumbles something breathily into your flesh that sounds a little bit like, “This is so hot.”

This girl is a real freak.

By the time she has her hands down your collar and has begun tweaking your nipples, the beeps and boops crescendo into a sustained tone. The very instant she bites your neck there’s a flash of light a hundred times brighter than any of the ones prior. For a moment, everything goes black.

When you open your eyes, you realize that you’re sprawled out awkwardly on the floor of the machine. Your head is pounding and you’re covered in sweat. Someone is tugging at the waistband of your pants and your blood is rapidly rushing to your genitals. It’s Marie. She’s trying to get your pants off.

Oh yeah, she’s a freak and a half.

You’d like nothing more than to see just how freaky she really is, but you decide it might be in your best interest to take a look outside and see where Nubleman’s piece of junk has taken you. After successfully prying horny Marie, The Eighteenth Century Nymphomaniac, from your bloomers, you reach up and smack the door-opening button with your palm. The metal slides open with a whoosh.

Unfortunately, it jams half way.

There’s a black, foul smelling smoke rising up from under the machine, and the outside is covered in dents. Flashes of electricity occasionally spark from the areas where the dents look more like gashes.

It seems the little car salesman did a heck of a lot more damage than you thought he could.

The moment you step out of the machine it bursts into flames. The fire singes the hairs on the back of your neck and something explodes under Nubleman’s pile of junk. You snag Marie around the waist, pull her away from the fire, and tumble together to the ground.

A puddle of greenish colored goop softens your landing.

Despite the fact that you’re partially submerged in what is essentially Nickelodeon Gack, almost instantly Marie has latched onto your neck again. In between kisses, and licks, and full on slobbers, she’s mumbling something about the fact that she’s “waited long enough” and that she wants you to “spank her, ravish her,” and remind her what it’s like to be with a “real man.”

Not only is she freaky, she’s obviously confused.

Through Marie’s flailing strands of hair, you notice that the sky overhead is remarkably red—far redder than you’ve ever seen it, or than it ever should be. The air smells like sulfur. It’s a bit thicker than you’re accustomed to. The temperature is absolute sweltering.

Marie’s hand slides down your shirt and heads south.

The landscape on either side of you is mostly rocky. Everything seems to be covered in a layer of reddish sand and dirt and there’s not a single bit of foliage to be found. Though you can’t tell for sure with Marie’s limbs flailing the way they are, you think you spot a volcano in the distance.

Speaking of crazy-Marie: she shoves her tongue down your throat.

That’s when it hits you. Though your knowledge of earth’s history is rudimentary at best, you suddenly know where you are. Nubleman’s machine really did a number on you this time. You’ve gone almost as far back in earth’s history as you could possibly go.

The goop your sliding around might just be the very same goop from which life itself will eventually spring.

Marie climbs on top of you, rips open her shirt and flops out in all her glory.

Oh, well. Marie was right about one thing; this is going to be pretty hot.

THE END

WELCOME TO HELLYWOOD CH.6 - STEP UP

WELCOME TO HELLYWOOD CH.6 - STEP UP

By Lael Gardner - Stalnaker
Indecision grips you hard as your mind races with the horrible possibilities. You snag your lower lip in your teeth and wear the cutest expression on your smooth baby face as you concentrate.

Okay, so be it. Usher has to die.

You might manage through a sing off, but a dance off just won’t work. You are getting pissed though, almost as angry as when that little bastard at laser tag got in your face and called you a faggot.

Wait… that happened to Bieber, not you! Ack!

His experiences are bleeding over into your mind. You really don’t want to know if the little twerp is actually into mansicles; you frankly don’t care.

What is important is getting your soul back. It is obvious that now that you have tried to reneg on the deal, Justin Bieber’s mind and soul are coming back to occupy his stolen skin. Usher is playing sly and hoping you won’t notice that attack as he distracts you.

Okay, that’s it. Usher has to die.

This weak little body notwithstanding, you are going to prevail. Damn it, if you have to live out your days in this skin, by the God you don’t believe in, you will have your damn soul!

“Ok, a dance off it is!” you yell to cover the noise of the tween herd thundering down the pavement toward you.

Usher grins evilly at you. As the herd approaches ever closer, you are desperate to keep the maker of your woes from catching on. You march straight up to Usher, throw your arms around his neck, stand on tiptoe and smash your lips onto his. Just to really drive it home, you shove your tongue in his startled mouth before he can resist or protest. While you aren’t attracted to the guy, it is kind of a turn on that you can’t help notice the twitch from the sadly proportioned anatomy below that you wish was bigger.

Usher finally reacts and shoves you so hard that you practically fly and land on your ass almost ten feet away. The tweens shriek in rage from right behind Usher. His eyes widen as he finally catches on to what you were really up to. The enraged pubescent estrogen horde slams right into his back, knocking him down in a picosecond. Feet slam into him over and over, keeping him from rising. The horde is so vast that they press up against each other, surrounding you in a wall of cooing girls (with the odd male in the mix) as they try to help you up.

Usher is a broken pulp before the horde disperses with your dulcet encouragement and thanks for their concern. You watch in feigned horror as the blob of flesh that was Usher is revealed. Then, turning away, you pull out the bottle that holds your soul trapped. With a final cry of rage, you slam the damned jar to the ground. This time it breaks into glistening shards. Your soul becomes a mist that surrounds you and then enters your nose, mouth and eyes.

By god, it feels wonderful to be whole again!

Now that you have that most important piece of yourself back, you can try to piece together a new life. Maybe you’ll actually learn to sing, perhaps not. You will, however, make wiser choices than you have in the past. For better or worse, you are stuck with this body, so you will use it. It can’t be all that bad, given a ready-made fan base to work on and years ahead of you.

THE END

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.6 SHUTTLE TO CYDONIA

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH. 6 - THE SHUTTLE TO CYDONIA

By R.A. Hunter

You decide that, no matter what, the president must be protected. You run to the shuttle ticket office. “One to Cydonia,” you say.

“That’ll be Greel Pinlax,” the ticket agent, a Martian woman who resembled Earth women save for her gray-tinged translucent skin and complete lack of hair, said.

“Come again?” you ask.

“I didn’t come the first time,” she says.

“In English.”

“I don’t know why I should speak English; this planet doesn’t even have an England.”

“You’re saying everything else in English.”

“That’s because you wouldn’t understand that I was intentionally ignoring you if I said everything in Galflorn."

“What’s Galflorn?”

“My native language.”

“I thought that was Martian.”

“Yeah, it’s Martian. Just like you speak Earthenese.”

You take a deep breath and try a different tactic. “Look, I’m sure you get a lot of demanding tourists here who expect you to cater to them without even bothering to learn basic… what was that, Gandalfish?”

“Yeah, sometimes people don’t even know what the language is called,” she says with an eye roll. “Some people actually think it’s just called Martian.”

You sigh a little. “Okay, that’s fair. I apologize. But I’m not a tourist. It’s very important that I get to Cydonia.”

She stares at you, blankly, her sarcasm entirely vanished. “Why is it so important that you get to Cydonia?” she asks coolly.

Suddenly you realize that this lady may be more than just a pain in the ass. You decide to proceed very carefully.

“I’m… meeting someone there,” you say.

“Oh, all right,” the ticket lady says. The cold edge melts from her voice and you tentatively breathe again and she turns her attention to her keyboard on which she begins typing. “But I hear traffic is being tied up over some big wig or something staying there.”

“Yeah, it’s President Womack,” you say without thinking. You bite on your lip but it doesn’t bring back the words.

The ticket lady looks up at you quickly. “I didn’t know anyone knew about that,” she says, striking a final key which produces a bright red ticket.

She tears the ticket from the dispenser slides it under the divider separating the two of you. “That’ll be twenty Zircons.”

You pay her quickly without making eye contact and cross to the line forming at the shuttle door. You watch as the customers board one by one handing their tickets -- which you can’t help but notice are white – to the conductor as they do so.

You glance at the red ticket in your hand. She gave me the wrong one. You think but just as you realize this you are shoved to the front of the line where the conductor takes it from you.

“Ah, sir,” he says after glancing at it. “You want the next car.”

He points to the second car of the two-car shuttle craft and you walk in that direction. You stick your head inside but no one is there to accept your ticket. You look back at the conductor who is now speaking with the other customers.

You shrug, assume someone will be by shortly to take your ticket and sit in the seat which looks most comfortable. You can do this because there is no one else on board this car.

You pull a magazine from the back of the seat in front of you and become engrossed in an article on mustard-based diets. You don’t realize how much time has passed until the shuttle’s engines growl and you feel it lift of the ground.

You drop your magazine onto the seat beside you and look out the window. You’re already sixty feet in the air; these new shuttles aren’t short on pick-me-up.

You look at the people milling about on the ground. You can’t be sure but you think you see Malloy standing just below the shuttle. He’s standing there and he’s… he’s waving… at you.

Suddenly you here the unmistakable sound of your car unlocking from the rest of the shuttle train just before the shuttle blasts off to Cydonia -- and you plummet right back down to the unforgiving terrain.

THE END.

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 6

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.6 YOU ARE HERE

Choose Or Die: Red Planet Stowaway Ch. 6 - You Are Here

By John Elrod

Momentarily forgetting everything about the day, you stand, shoulders squared in confrontational disdain and head pivoting from point-to-point. "Shopping malls? Drive-thru restaurants? A STRIP club? This is Mars?"

Slowly your neck begins to crane upward as the crimson Martian sky overflows from your eyes, leaving you agape. "This is Mars."

"You noticed the bar, too, huh?" Bob practically salivates onto the nape of your neck as he wraps his arm around your shoulder and talks just a little too longingly into your ear, "Yeah, maybe that drink isn't too great of an idea there, Wallace. I've got a bit of a drinking problem..."

Bob continues, but every bit of your predicament comes rushing back in an instant, with the refreshing click of an idea.

"Come on, Bob," you interrupt his sobriety speech--and his sobriety. "One drink can't hurt, right? I mean, I took you for more of a man than that."

Four shots of space tequila later . . . (Space tequila is much more potent than just your regular, old tequila)

"So that's when I said, 'intergalactic chronoton-collider? I barely even know her!'" Bob bellows as he finishes up a particularly bad joke (and his fifth shot of space tequila). "What's with you, Wallace? You've barely drank any-anything at all."

You have to give him credit. Even in his current, bent condition, Bob managed to be nearly correct; you haven't drank anything at all. You've slowly plied him with alcohol, and it's just about time for you to start getting some answers.

"So, Bob... this mission we're on--"

"Geez, work work work. We have plenty of time to get to that." He interrupts you this time.

You begin again. "Yes, but this mission; what exactly are we doing again? I mean, I know... but... um... who... who's this guy we --"

He interrupts again and begins shifting his appearance haphazardly; first, as Saleen. "Listen, hot stuff, I know you want to get to work; well, so do I." "She" heaves her chest upward before sloppily shifting into Malloy. "Yeah, come on. You know you want some of this. I think my junk is feeling nice now. Why don't you check for me?"

You're feeling all kinds of things, most of them being shades of nausea, but you simply must know the answer. "Who are we here to assassinate?" You blurt out above Bob's nonsense, dampening his inebriation for the time being.

"I don't think everyone over in Cydonia heard you." He quips, through the bottom of yet another shot glass. "Can't you guess? No? Geez, no wonder they picked you. It's Manuel Womack."

Suddenly, your insides feel like they want to be outside. You ask a question you wish you didn't already know the answer to. "P-P-President Manuel Womack?"

"Yes, 'P-P-President Manuel Womack.'" This time Bob morphs himself into a reasonable facsimile of you -- the alcohol seems to be impairing his abilities. He takes on a mock-simpleton tone, "Ugh, I'm Wallace -- or whatever -- and I need shit spelled out for me. Why did I wake up in a storage locker? What am I doing here? Wah-wah-wah."

"What did you say? I --" You stagger to find the words to counter his, but your mind is still mush, and he apparently knows, anyway.

"Listen, kid. You seem nice enough. It's been, what? 25 minutes since I took a leak? I contacted Malloy, and I'm supposed to stall you until he gets down here. Why don't you just run? The job's wrapped up, anyway. There's nothing that will change that. Maybe you can buy yourself a few more days of freedom before they haul your ass in."

You have so many more questions than before, but only one has the stamina to leap out of your mouth. "Are you even really drunk?"

"Oh, yeah; I'm definitely wasted and saying all kinds of things I really shouldn't be. That's why they don't want me drinking; it messes with my programming," he says as he melts into some weird mixture of you and ... Lara Flynn Boyle?

Sprinting from your seat and out of the bar, you speedily survey the still irritatingly terrestrial streets. You spot the shuttle station. Just inside the terminal, you shuffle up to a massive directory, reading "You Are Here" with an arrow pointing to a pictograph "shuttle station.”

You utter beneath your breath, "Everything's so familiar. Where are all the Martians?" With cardiac quickness, a holographic media guide appears.

Bee-Boop
"This is the human sector: Cydonia Mensae. The majority of its inhabitants are human tourists." Bee-Boop

She vanishes as suddenly as she appeared.
"Well, how the hell do I get out of here?" You ask to the space in front of you.

Bee-Boop
"Shuttles leave regularly, going: north to Cydonia, going south to Nanditz, and going east to the construction zone of CITY NOT AVAILABLE."
Bee-Boop

From over your shoulder, you hear the female voice boom, "Pod 1-1-8 docking." The pod doors open and you hear the voice, somewhat muffled as it's now coming from inside the pod: "Welcome... to Mars." Out step Malloy, Saleen, and Peter Tan.

"Shuttles... now boarding," the omnipresent, female voice monotones from above you.

You must make your choice. Do you...

A. Hop on the shuttle to Nanditz and hope there's someone there who can help you?

B. Follow Malloy, Saleen, and Tan to try and find out about what is going on and possibly intervene?

C. Jump on the shuttle to cydonia and try to warn President Womack of the assassination attempt?